Decembers
Christmas, Christmas Time Is Here,
And Christmas Songs You Love To Hear,
Thoughts Of Joy And Hope And Cheer,
But Mostly Shopping, Shopping, Shopping!
(Straight No Chaser)
2009
After our first big whoop-ti-do Christmas party in 2007, we decided to make it an annual event. Having a 3 month old the next year didn't stop us; having a 15 month old the year after didn't, either. (I think it may have encouraged the idea—you know, the concept of conversations with adults?) And then there was the NCIS office party.
Like the summer "family picnic," the Christmas—oops, Holiday Party wasn't limited to employees only. Family members were encouraged to join in, including kids. They always had someone dressed up as Santa, games were played and everyone had a good time.
When the baby was only 3 months old, we decided it was a bit much to drag her to the Navy Yard for a party that wouldn't really mean anything to her. So we dropped her off at Ev and Lily's, prepared to find her spoiled thoroughly rotten when we returned, and headed off to the party.
Santa was played (very realistically) by a nice old guy from Legal. Beard and moustache were the real thing (he said he started growing them out in September). (So was his belly—which he said he worked on year 'round.) There were a couple of elves—little size zeros from one or another department, one taking pictures of the kids with Santa, the other one handing out candy canes left and right. Abby would have made an adorable (if extremely tall) elf, but she was dressed in a very different costume. Abby… was a tree.
She was draped in a head to toe dark brown sheath with a metal framework built into it. She was covered on all sides in the most realistic fake branches I've ever seen and decorated with tinsel, garlands and all manner of ornaments tied firmly to her branches. She even had lights powered by a battery pack. The 'trunk' had a hole for her face so she could walk around and see where she was going—but, much like you can't see the forest for the trees, she could see out… but unless you got up close and really personal, you couldn't see in.
"The kids think it's really cool! A talking tree!" she burbled when we ran into her in the hallway.
"Okay, not to be nosy, but—how do you pee?" Having just been pregnant for what seemed like forever and spending 23 out of every 24 hours in the bathroom, I was dying to know.
She shrugged and her upper branches wiggled. "I don't. I hit the bathroom before getting into this rig, I'm not drinking anything while I'm in it, and there's no way I can do this more than two hours—so I'll be fine."
"Better you than me. I'll let you know if I see Euell Gibbons roaming about."
We hit the buffet (good food, though Ducky's turkey is better, in my opinion), had our pictures taken with Santa, shmoozed around the room and generally had a good time.
"Ooh! A magician!" I whispered. He was off in one corner of the room, doing close work sleight of hand. Ducky loves magic (he's a bit of an amateur magician) and so do I, so we hung out for a good ten minutes or more.
We weren't the only ones entranced. Abby stood a few feet away, so silent ad still that I forgot she wasn't a tree. (A testimony to her acting abilities if nothing else.)
"Good show," I said as we turned to go.
"Agreed." Abby started to make a careful turn.
"GAAHHH!" The woman behind Abby screeched.
"IEEEEEE!" Abby screamed in response. "Jeez, scare a girl to death!"
"The tree moves! The tree talks! The tree talks!" she babbled. A man—her husband, I presume—ran up and she shoved her cup at him, hissing, "You said the punch wasn't spiked!" before running off.
Abby stared after her for a moment, head cocked (making the top of the tree tilt dangerously askew). "I need to find Misty," she said. "After that—I do have to pee." She wobbled out of the room.
2012
Ducky is one of the best cooks I know. One of the best bakers, too. He likes my cooking, I like his. We get along great.
Every Christmas we make tons of fudge and divinity and such. When Lexi turned one, we snagged Lily's almond roca recipe and it was a huge hit. (Okay, it took a trial batch to get it right. Her instructions said, "cook until hard crack/medium tan." The candy thermometer read "hard crack"—but it was nowhere close to medium tan. We shrugged, put our faith in technology and poured the candy onto cookie sheets to harden… and watched it spread, like The Blob out of the movie by the same name. Over the cookie sheets and onto the table… over the table and onto the floor… across the floor like a sticky lake and Ducky shook his head. "I don't think it's going to set up." The candy thermometer was a trifle inaccurate and was quickly replaced. The next batch was perfect.) A couple of years later we decided to try her Spicy Peanut Brittle.
It was a simple recipe. Mix most of the ingredients, cook to a boil, cover for 3 minutes, uncover and, quote, "reduce heat to medium, and cook until the sugar is a light amber color." We reduced the heat and cooked the sugar, aiming for a light amber color as directed. We cooked.
And cooked.
And cooked.
And cooked.
The pale mass bubbled and burbled… and refused to change color.
Minutes ticked by. The contents of the pot slowly decreased in volume and it still didn't turn that lovely golden brown peanut brittle should be.
"Okay, it's been hard crack for ages," I griped. (This was according to a new, calibrated candy thermometer, too.) "It's just not going to change color. Screw it. Dump in the nuts."
The directions warned that once we added the peanuts it would "drop the temperature like a rock, so work quickly before it sets up." Understatement. It clanked up into a near-solid mass, falling out of the pot in clumps. (So much for "use a buttered spatula to spread thin.")
"Oh, dear."
"Crap."
"That doesn't wook wike Auntie Wiwwy's peanut brittow," Lexi said hesitantly.
"Yeah…" I took a small chunk that had cooled off and took a cautious bite. "Well… it doesn't taste bad. A little grainy, but not bad…"
"We'll put it out after people are a little tiddly," Ducky said. "They'll eat anything at that point."
When Lily called later on, she was mystified. "That's my never-fail recipe. We'll have to make a batch tonight after dinner."
That night, we didn't even have to open the sugar canister. She picked up the pan we had used and almost brandished it at us. "You used this?"
Duck and I exchanged a look. "Yeah…" I said.
"You don't use non-stick pans to make brittles!" she laughed. "It will never brown!"
Is it any wonder my favorite t-shirt reads Oh, no! Not another learning experience?
2010
Ducky and I swore that we wouldn't become "those" parents. Pictures of the kid or the family sent out with a card, yes. But newsletters? Not gonna happen.
Dear All:
Well, it's been an exciting year! Muffy got nominated for a Nobel (again!); that she lost was only due to jealousy and politics. Biff took his company from IPO to $500 a share in six months and sold out; poor dear, he's looking for something to occupy his time (ha-ha!). The twins, Bitsy and Barfy discovered a cure for the common cold over summer break—
I tossed yet another newsletter on Ducky's desk. Ugh. Let him read them if he wants to. I'll pass.
Dearest Family and Friends:
Well, we started off the year on a sad note. The family reunion picnic was marred by that nasty case of food poisoning…
Another one for the pile. Next card. Lily and Ev. Inside was a lovely family portrait of the three of them and… oh, dear god, a newsletter. I started to chuck it onto the desk (come on, I know everything that's gone on in their universe for the past year anyway) and stopped. Something about the layout looked… different from the normal newsletter.
tap tap tappity tap tap tap tap
What are you doing?
Working on our holiday newsletter.
Lemme see. I'll help.
WISHING YOU
HAPPY HOLIDAYS
Y'know, some people think "Happy Holidays" is kinda..."meh."
Oh? Oh, okay.
WISHING YOU A
MERRY CHRISTMAS
Um, Antonia and her son are celebrating Kwanzaa and Christmas now.
Oh.
WISHING YOU A
MERRY CHRISTMAS
HAPPY KWANZAA
And Marcia and David and their kids—
Oh, I forgot.
WISHING YOU A
MERRY CHRISTMAS
HAPPY KWANZAA
HAPPY HANUKKAH
But Deb and Jim are Pagan.
{silent glower}
They told me to have a Blessed Winterfest. Does that help?
WISHING YOU A
MERRY CHRISTMAS
HAPPY KWANZAA
HAPPY HANUKKAH
BLESSED WINTERFEST
Or was it Solstice?
{sigh}
WISHING YOU A
MERRY CHRISTMAS
HAPPY KWANZAA
HAPPY HANUKKAH
BLESSED WINTERFEST
HAPPY SOLSTICE
I think Julie—
I don't want to hear it.
It's—
No.
Festivous? And Dixie had a Saturnalia party—
{pounds head on keyboard}
MERRY CHRISTMAS
HAPPY KWANZAA
HAPPY HANUKKAH
BLESSED WINTERFEST
HAPPY SOLSTICE
MERRY FESTIVOUS
RAUCOUS SATURNALIA
Ok? OK. Good enough.
{silence}
Yes?
Well...
NOW what?
I remember Christopher having an altar for Diana.
Who? What? You mean like Wonder Woman?
Diana. Greek goddess. Goddess of the hunt.
{silence}
Oh, and Cara is agnostic. And Ian became Buddhist.
{silence, broken by a faint sob}
D E L E T E
HAPPY NEW Y-
You know, the Russian Orthodox church celebrates new year on—
Don't. Even. Go. There.
Hmph. No need to get huffy. Just trying to help!
{silence}
D E LE T E
HAPPY ARBOR DAY!
Will that work?
Isn't Bob a Druid...?
{chair shoves back, computer is pushed off table}
Dear?
{door slams}
So... we're not doing a newsletter this year?
Whatever the reason-
Have a great season!
Okay… some newsletters aren't that bad!